Tell Me Your Name
by Andie Rose
Summary: Lord Pyral Harrowmont... The crown has been bestowed and the duty to rule Orzammar is now his. What shall become of this man who fought so hard to get to the position that he is now in?


Tell Me Your Name…

Lord Pyral Harrowmont sat on his throne. Ancient crown carved by the paragon Caridin sat just so fittingly on his head. How had this all happened? On any normal occasion, Pyral would be happy, ecstatic even, but this was not a normal occasion. Not by a long shot. Things were not right in Orzammar. Ever since King Endrin Aeducan had passed away there were riots in the streets and too many murders to count, murders that could have easily been avoided.

Pyral was never one to be good around blood or violence. As a child, even though he was a in a distinguished caste, some kids never liked him. Early on they decided to beat him up and show him who was boss. The first time a kid popped him in the mouth and made his lip bleed, he saw the blood and ran away like a little dog. He cried and cried, and eventually passed out. Since then, he had gotten better and could take blood much better, but all of these thoughts and recent dreams about blood and gore were really getting to him. Even just sitting here thinking about it was making his stomach hurt a little.

"Politics, it's just politics." Thought Pyral trying to shut the gory and disturbing thoughts out of his head. "These things happen everywhere… right? Orzammar is no different. It isn't beyond saving, is it? This city has been through so much. This city, MY city, it used to be one of the most glorious cities in all of Ferelden. I know that this isn't how it is always going to be. I hope it isn't…"

"Excuse me, my Lord?" Pyral came back to reality where standing in front of him was one of the local dwarves, looking for money to open up his own Nug restaurant. "Think Pyral, think! What was he just saying? What even was his name? Boromin? No, no, no, it was… was… Boermor! Yes, good Pyral, you figured that one out. Now, listen Pyral, you have to at least LOOK and ACT like a good King right now in these troubling times, even if you don't feel like it. What does he want again? Oh sod it, make something up. Something king-like..."

"… and this will allow us to easily sell and keep track of the Nugs in our stock and cook them to perfection. I'm thinking about Nug pancakes, Nug-gets, and even seared Nug. It's a great idea don't you think? So, what do you say?"

"Yes, yes, tell the guards that you have my permission. Do what you want. I don't have time for this right now. I'm sorry, I have to go." said Pyral as he hastily got up from his throne. There were beads of sweat forming on his upper lip and slowly trailing its way down his beard. In the recent days his beard and hair had gotten even grayer than usual. It seemed to be thinning and he wasn't sure, but he thought that he had found a clump of gray hair on his pillow this morning. Sure, Pyral had WANTED to become King, but now that he was, he wasn't sure whether the Grey Warden had made the right choice. He hoped so, with all of his heart.

Pyral started to make his way back to his estate. He could have stayed in the palace, but he didn't want to do that. He felt safer, and for lack of better words more at home at his estate. This whole King thing was still new to him. Sure, he had been the advisor to the late King, but this was completely different. He was not ready to take on all of this destruction and hatred. He knew that it had been bad, but exactly how bad he never would have guessed. He was sure that even the late Bhelen wouldn't have been ready for this, even though royalty was in his blood.

As Pyral made his way through the Diamond District and towards his estate, he saw the aftermath of hatred and political struggle. There were dead bodies of Bhelen fanatics strewn across the ground. They were twisted into unrealistic and uncomfortable shapes. Their faces contorted in pain and rage. This was a terrible thing. He even recognized some of the faces.

There was Thorgin, his early best friend from childhood, Carstone, one of the friendly faces that he used to see at the local tavern, and even Grownid, one of the local shop vendors whom he had gone drinking with many times. All of this, all of this death was the fault of fickle politics. The word made him sick. Politics. Politics. Politics. Politics…

He felt the sour vomit rising in his throat. Not wanting to make a scene or Paragon forbid, show weakness, he sped up his pace to get to his door. He made it to his doorstep, still fighting back the sickness, and threw open the door.

Pyral slammed the door shut and locked it twice just for good measure. The word just kept playing over and over in his head, like a reprimanding teacher. Sweat was soaking his clothes, his beard, his face… what was happening? The sickness was overcoming him. He looked around urgently, not knowing what to do, whether he could hold back this terrible sickness or if he could not, where to expel this terrible feeling. His eyes were shooting back and forth in their sockets, blood shot and burning. Knowing he could not hold it back any longer, he got sick. He vomited all over the floor. He had no time to stop it.

He thought that with the sickness out of his body, that his feeling of uneasiness would go away, but this was different. This was not the simple sickness that he thought it was. It was as though he had been… no, he could not think it. This couldn't be. It was like he had been POISONED. He knew that he had many enemies due to his involvement in that terrible word, politics, but who would have the gall to do this to him? It felt as though he had taken in Lyrium dust straight to his blood stream. This feeling was overtaking his entire being, his entire body.

Next came the pounding headache and the feeling that his legs would no longer support his weight. Pyral fell down onto his knees gripping his head and screaming. That scream would have penetrated any other walls in the world, but not his estate. He called, screamed, and cried for help. He was out crying for someone to help him with all of his might, hoping that it would leak through the rock walls so that someone, anyone could get this feeling to stop. But it was not so… Falling, falling, falling, onto the floor, with no way to stop it.

Slowly blinking his eyes open Pyral found himself in a bed in the Royal Estate. His beard was encrusted in dried vomit and he smelled like vomit too. He could only guess how long he had been without bathing or a change of clothes. How he had gotten there and what had happened after his black out was a mystery.

At first glance, he thought that he was alone. Everything was in place and the room seemed untouched. Pyral was about to close his eyes, but as he looked around the room more closely, he noticed someone in the corner. He was clothed in black, and he knew that this was not a Dwarf, and he was not a friend.

Trying to sound official and threatening he said with all his might, "Who are you? State your business or get-" He could not even finish his next sentence. He went into a fit of coughing and blood spewed out of his mouth.

"Do not speak. Do you want your death to be even quicker than it was intended to be? To anyone else, this just seems like simple food poisoning, but oh to me… I know what you are suffering from, and I have the only antidote. Look here. I can throw it up in the air. I can flip it behind my back, but let's not drop it! This is your only hope you see." He had a small glass vial positioned in his hand just so that it seemed that it might fall at any minute.

Wiping the blood from his mouth Pyral said, "What have you done to me? Why are you doing this to me? If I am condemned to death, either give me the antidote or end it now. Do not leave me hanging in the balance for a minute longer. "

"No, no, no, let's not be hasty now. If you wish to die, then I can arrange that. For, you see I am your Angel of Death right now. I can grant you life, or death. Which one shall it be? Make your choice, and be sure about it."

"Tell me what you are here for, and I shall tell you my decision. And make it quick would you? I grow restless."

"I have neither favor nor boon to ask of you. I was as you can say, employed, by someone. He was rather how can I say… upset, that you had put an end to Bhelen. I have nothing against you, for I do not even know you, but my employer, well he wishes you dead. All I want is money for I am just a worker, and that is what we all want isn't it? Money, it makes the world go around. So what shall it be? Money or death?"

"I did not end Bhelen! He brought it upon himself. I gave him a choice! A choice that he would not take. He could not take the fact that he had lost! It was not me who chose to be King. It was that Grey Warden. Why didn't you go for him? Tell me this!"

"Oh how quickly we turn on our friends in the shadow of death. Tsk tsk, I have no need for aimless chatter. You ask me these questions and want answers, but I do not care about your wants and needs. Make your choice now."

Pyral knew that this was his death for sure. People like this man were merciless. He knew that whether he gave this mysterious man money, that he would kill him anyway. His decision was not a hard one to make. So he replied, "Give me death. I do not want to give you ANYTHING. But all I ask is that you tell me your name and make my death quick, for I am sick of your presence and do not want to be in it one more second."

The mysterious man gave a little chuckle. With much relish and a face of enjoyment, he took out a dagger and aimed it directly at Pyral's heart. It was positioned at a perfect projectile and the man's arm was cocked for the kill. "Enjoy your death, for I will enjoy killing you."

With that the blade came down into his heart. The mysterious man sneaked out of the door with such ease that he could have only been an Antivan Crow. He could tell that much. Pyral's vision was clouding and his breathing was becoming more and more labored by the second. His eyelids seemed as though they had lead in them and he could no longer hold his eyes open. As he slowly faded out if his life and his body, he could have sworn that he heard the man whisper, "Zevran…"


End file.
